


Do you have any idea how long that would take to hand-stitch?

by MostGeckcellent



Series: Bright Futures Time Travel Agency [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Gen, Historical Costuming, Historical References, In which Feuilly needs a break, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:21:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28072383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostGeckcellent/pseuds/MostGeckcellent
Summary: Bright Futures Time Travel Agency is a longstanding establishment with a shining reputation. Its agents are skilled and efficient, and the missions it undertakes are dangerous, daring, and world-saving.This isn't about that.Bright Futures would be nothing without its hardworking office staff, after all. And they might not be jumping through time and saving the day, but they get up to adventures all their own.In this instalment, join Feuilly as he juggles agents who don't respect deadlines, a messy work room, and a napoleonic ballgown that needs to be finished too soon.
Series: Bright Futures Time Travel Agency [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2056437
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Do you have any idea how long that would take to hand-stitch?

Feuilly grits his teeth and breathes through his nose, doing his best not to snap. His fists would clench, but he doesn’t think he can feel his fingers anymore, because he spent the last  _ eighteen hours _ hand-stitching eighteenth century undergarments. He needs a nap three hours ago. “I’m sorry,” he says slowly. “You what?” 

“I lost them.” The agent in his workshop looks apologetic, but not apologetic enough, in Feuilly’s opinion. “I need new ones by Monday.” 

Feuilly resists the urge to tell Rosier to get out of his office. Barely. 

“You’ll have them in two months, because according to policy, that’s the notice I’m supposed to be given for garments that need to be hand stitched,” Feuilly corrects him. 

“I need them for -” 

“Monday, yes, you said. Lucky for you, this is a time travel agency, so you can just travel to 1756 in two months.” Feuilly picks up the Napoleonic ball gown he was working on before he was interrupted, and hopes this man will take the hint and leave. 

Feuilly is granted almost fourty minutes of peace and quiet to work, when his door flies open again. 

“Feuilly! My man!” 

Feuilly is halfway prepared to lose it completely when he registers that it’s not another field agent, but Bahorel. 

“If this is about Rosier -” he starts, hoping he isn’t about to be asked to make an exception to get the garments done. 

“Fuck no, dude. I know the policy, and so does he,” Bahorel assures him, and Feuilly relaxes. “Nah, I just came to bring you this.” He holds out a steaming mug, and Feuilly groans and makes grabby hands at Bahorel, and the caffeinated ambrosia he’s offering. 

Bahorel grins and hands over the coffee, and Feuilly downs half of it in one go, ignoring the fact that it burns his tongue a little. “You’re a coffee god,” Feuilly informs Bahorel, who grins wider. 

Bahorel leaves, and Feuilly finishes his coffee. He pins a pattern for a set of 18th century stays, and finishes the sleeves on the Napoleonic ball gown. He stands, planning on tidying his space a little, and promptly trips over a pile of fabric on the floor. 

“Fucking shit - who left this - Christ lord.” He picks it up, muttering to himself angrily all the way. Thanks to the coffee, he no longer feels quite as much like death, but it has been a Week, and as much as he is going to enjoy the overtime on his next paycheque, he is also desperate to get some sleep, please, god. 

The next time his door opens, it startles him, and he swears as his fabric swerves off course on his sewing machine. “Fuck!” 

“Sorry.” It’s Enjolras, who has to be Feuilly’s favourite field agent. Enjolras had been elevated to favourite mostly for the fact that he vocally and enthusiastically appreciated the work that he did - and not just Feuilly, but everyone who wasn’t a field agent. In fact, the first time they’d met, Enjolras had been in his first week in the field, but hadn’t hesitated to chew out a senior agent for taking Feuilly’s time and effort for granted. Now, they had a standing Wednesday Coffee, and it was one of Feuilly’s weekly highlights. 

“Not your fault, I was distracted,” Feuilly waved Enjolras’ apology off. “What do you need?”

“I’m here to return these.” Sure enough, Enjolras is holding the outfit Feuilly had put together for his last jump to 1840s Paris. 

“Hey, you’re early,” Feuilly noted. He grabbed his tablet, and searched up Enjolras’ file. “Any damages to report?”

“Not really. The usual dirt and grime from wearing it for a few days in the 19th century, but nothing unusual.” 

Feuilly nods, makes a note in the file, and accepts the clothes, checking each item off on the list. “Looks like it’s all there.” He’ll have a few extra days to get them laundered, before he needs to get them to the next agent. He appreciates it. “You’re my favourite.” He informs Enjolras, who blushes, ever so slightly. 

“Oh. Uh - thanks.” 

Feuilly thinks he’s adorable. 

“How’d it go?” he asks. He sorts the returned clothes according to how they need to be laundered, and listens to Enjolras talk about the political intrigues of the 19th century. It’s nice, this sort of thing. Enjolras is passionate, and Feuilly admires him. By the time Enjolras leaves, he’s nearly done the mockup for the Napoleonic ball gown. 

Feuilly is supposed to take the next day off. He intends to do it, too. He goes home, takes a bubble bath, and goes to bed early. And in the morning, he chooses to go out and buy some pastries for breakfast, instead of cooking at home. Part of him still whispers that it’s a waste, that he should just cook, but that’s a leftover instinct from a time when he was struggling. His job at Bright Futures pays well, and he hasn’t struggled for money in a while, but the instincts are still strong. Not strong enough to win over Feuilly’s exhaustion, though - not today. 

He eats his pastries, and thinks about the three 16th century outfits he has to sew by hand. He makes coffee, and thinks about the finishing touches he wants to put on the waistcoat Montparnasse needs for Wednesday. He sighs, and stands, and pulls on his jacket. A few hours of work won’t hurt, he supposes. 

“Feuilly! You’re supposed to be at home,” Jehan greets him at the door with a cheerful smile, but narrowed eyes that belie their suspicions. 

“Hey, Jehan. I just have a few things I want to get done,” Feuilly assures them. 

Jehan stands from behind their desk, and steps out in front of Feuilly. “I am under strict instructions from Director Valjean himself,” they inform him, “not to let you in, under any circumstances.” 

“What?” Has he done something wrong? He hasn’t been told he’s being fired. 

“Apparently, it’s been almost two weeks since you’ve taken a day off and actually stayed home, and Valjean says you’re going to take a day off if he has to come and drive you home himself,” Jehan informs him. They don’t look remotely apologetic about it, and Feuilly sighs. 

“There’s a lot to do,” they start to explain. 

“ When a man feels he cannot leave his work, it is a sure sign of an impending collapse,” Jehan says, and Feuilly is sure it’s a quote from something, but in the moment he’s not sure what. 

“It’s not that I can’t leave,” Feuilly protests weakly, and Jehan lifts a delicate eyebrow. 

“Prove it,” they challenge, and, well. No one wins an argument with Jehan Prouvaire. “Go on home,” they continue, softening a little when they see Feuilly hesitate. “The work will still be there tomorrow. But we’ll all be worse off if you work yourself into the ground, hm?”

Feuilly sighs, but he hugs Jehan briefly, and nods. “You always know what to say.”

“The gift and the curse of the poet,” Jehan says dramatically, and Feuilly smiles. 

The next day, by the time Feuilly arrives, the mockups of the three 16th century costumes are done, the agents who are meant to wear them are scheduled in for fittings, and Feuilly thinks that maybe, just maybe, Jehan (and Valjean) were right about taking a break. If they were, he’ll never admit it. 

  
  



End file.
